“SENSIBLE HAMILA!”

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume 52, Issue 3298, 9 August 1943, Page 7

“SENSIBLE HAMILA!”

A STORY OF RUSSIA

MAIMED SOLDIER’S WORK

COLLECTIVE FARM ASSISTANT

(By

DMITRI STONOV)

The well-known Russian writer, Dmitri Stonov, embodies in the following story the same reticent courage which is inevitably reflected from numerous angles in the many, tales told of Russia.

One rainy September day. Ibrahim Zakirov, veteran of Sevastopol, got off the steamer at the jetty and began to walk home to the “Kzyl-Oktyabr” collective farm at Tataria. He could have telephoned for someone to bring' him a horse, but it didn’t occur to him. He plodded on. stopping now and then to stare across the fields.

The wind played- with his empty sleeve. He began to imagine that the fingers of his left hand, which he had lost in the last battle, were hurting. The nearer he got to the farm the slower he walked. He began to recall the day he had left for the front. All the farm people had assembled to say good-bye to him, their chairman. The new chairman, Halima Ahmetshin, had made the farewell speech. She had said: — “I hope you will fight the Nazis as well as you have managed the affairs of our Kzyl-Oktyabr collective farm.” With All His Heart He fought the Germans with all his heart, and sure enough the Order of the Red Star soon appeared on his breast. Zakirov had always been a clever hunter and a good shot. Then came the black day. He was badly wounded, and when he came round in hospital he found he had only one arm. At first he could not believe it when they, told him he would no longer be any good at the front, and had better return to his farm. “And what shall I do there without my arm ”

That was the question he asked himself over and over again as he trudged back home. That was a month ago. This morning we rode through the forest. Our horses walked close to each other. The chairman of the Kzyl-Oktyabr collective farm looked every inch a cavalryman as he sat in the saddle, his left sleeve sewn neatly to his sheepskin coat. Now we were on our way to the lumber camp. I could not resist an oblique reference to the past. “And how are things with you, Zakirov?” I asked, after we had ridden some distance in silence. “You mean this?” asked Zakirov, flicking his empty sleeve with his right hand. “Oh, you don’t see things in proportion when you have lost your arm. At first, everything seems different from what it actually is.” .

“They All Scolded Me” He laughed. “I’ll never forget the day I came home. I forgot to ring up from the jetty. How they all scolded me—particularly Halima Ahmetshin. At the very first general meeting she moved that I be re-elected chairman. “I tried to object that I was an invalid now. But she shouted me down. ‘Your arm has nothing to do with it,’ she said. And she made me rather ashamed of myself by telling me, ‘There is work to do, dear comrade, and if it is hard you can count on my help.’ “They all insisted so much that I had to forget about my arm and get down to things. There was the potatodigging just coming on, and together with the brigade-leaders I drew up a plan of work. “The crop area had to be increased, so it was necessary to start ploughing in good time and get the tractors repaired. When we’ve done that we shall get the cattle-sheds readj T for the winter. There’s always plenty of work on a farm, especially in wartime.” He paused, and added: “A very tesensible woman, Halima. A man’s still a man, even if he has lost an arm,f